


Shoker: Marcus and Jeff

by DAfan7711



Series: Mass Effect Trilogy [4]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Disabled Character, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Mass Effect 1, Pining, Shoker, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 12:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/pseuds/DAfan7711
Summary: Flight Lieutenant Jeff "Joker" Moreau plucks up the courage to offer Commander Shepard a cold beer, not daring to  hope that his admiration might be reciprocated.





	Shoker: Marcus and Jeff

**Author's Note:**

> The cold beer bottles made Jeff’s hands numb. He shifted the bottles’ necks between the fingers of one hand and blew warm air into his other fist. He’d been standing in front of Shepard’s door for five minutes, too nervous to knock, but too nervous to leave. What if he wasn’t in there? Should he try later, when he knew what to say? What if he never knew what to say? What if he never had another chance? Not that he really had a chance now—

“Hi, Jeffrey, what can I do for you?”

“Hi, Commander!” he said too brightly, spinning around too fast. His ankle gave an audible crack, sending a jab of pain into his knee. He turned his grimace into a strained grin.

_Don’t remind him you’re a cripple._

Great. Way to show your teeth, Jeff. He probably looked crazy. Like that dick that harassed him on the Citadel, Verner. Marcus had given him an autograph once, and now the rabid fan was all over him every visit. Jeff had suggested he report Verner to C-Sec, get a restraining order, but Marcus said the guy was just socially awkward and not really a bother. Still, Jeff got nervous any time Marcus went to the Citadel without Garrus. The only thing better than the turian’s aim was his dedication to Marcus’ safety.

“What’s up?” Marcus asked, pretending Jeff wasn’t standing there like a mute idiot. With that sexy lopsided smile that always made Jeff’s throat go dry.

“Oh, is that _cold_ human beer? I haven’t had my nightcap yet.” Marcus’ smile turned into a grin that made Jeff’s tongue stick to the top of his mouth. “Would you like to come in? I promise I won’t steal one of your beers, unless you want me to.”

_You can steal any part of me you want._

“Uh, sure,” he answered with a shaky breath, wishing he could at least be suave or funny—even if he couldn’t be whole. “I brought plenty to share.”

“Great!” Marcus went into the captain’s cabin first, the ship automatically picking up on his biometrics and opening the door for them.

The thick braid of his hair was pinned in a series of curved lines on the back of his head. Short, alluring curls ran along where his hairline met the nape of his neck.

Jeff would have paid an entire month’s wages to see him with his hair down once.

Marcus pushed aside the coffee table in front of the couch and dragged over two ottomans in front of it.

Thank all the spirts of Palaven, or goddesses of Thessia, or whatever brilliant engineer had decided to keep the cabin one level, instead of one of those fancy two-story suites or recessed living room holes in the floor that were so popular in pricey frigates. After what he’d just done to his ankle, stairs were not an option, and he’d have had to crawl back to his own bunk, his tail between his legs.

“Have a seat, Jeffrey. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s Jeff, actually,” he said automatically as he looked around the sparse cabin, appreciating the model ships and _Fleet and Flotilla_ poster over the desk. The only item on the desk was a framed photo of Marcus with his Admiral mother, both of them in dress uniform, hugging and laughing at the photographer while a party went on in the background.

The bed was made as crisply as the bunks in the barracks, but it was big enough for _two_ people. Jeff averted his eyes.

Shit, Marcus even had all his data pads clean and in their appropriate cubbies. Jeff made a mental note to clean the crumbs out of his cup holder on his pilot’s chair.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. I called you the wrong name.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Yeah, but I should have asked, instead of just reading off the roster like a newb.” Marcus chuckled. “You make me feel like a newb.”

He made him feel something?

Jeff sat on the couch, speechless.

Marcus sat on the other end, put his feet up on one of the ottomans. He had two ice packs and a pair of fluffy white towels in his hands. He wrapped one of the packs in a towel and draped it over his shoulder, leaning back against the couch with a contented sigh, “Black Widow’s got some serious kickback.”

Jeff wouldn’t know. He was cleared for a side arm and the Avenger, but the prissy bastards in medical prohibited him from practicing with anything heavier, and from any active combat outside of aerial maneuvers. Why the hell was he sitting on this couch anyway?

“Here,” Marcus offered him the other ice pack. “Trade you one for a beer?”

“Uh, sure,” Jeff traded a cold beer for an ice pack and towel. He tried to be as nonchalant as Marcus as he put his feet up on his own ottoman and wrapped the pack around his knee. He’d have to ice the ankle later; no way was he taking off his boots in the Commander’s cabin.

Once settled in, it was actually easy to talk. Comfortable, even. Marcus knew the name and history of each ship in his collection and grilled Jeff on the particulars of each of their drive cores and maneuverability.

As the evening grew later and their bottles grew emptier—and Marcus grabbed two more bottles from the little fridge-freezer combo under his desk—Jeff became more and more enamored with the deep, appreciative way Marcus said, “drive core.”

He shifted in his seat, holding his bottle with both hands so that his arms hid his growing hard-on. Yeah, a mild buzz in the captain’s cabin was about the extent of the risk he wanted to take tonight. Coming on to his CO would be a really bad idea.

A third beer might make him forget that was a really bad idea. Getting drunker definitely would make him forget.

“Well, thanks, Commander,” Jeff sat up suddenly and hobbled over to put his ice pack back in the freezer. When he turned to set his almost-empty beer bottle down on the desk, Marcus was there, offering to take it. Jeff hesitated half a breath and handed him the bottle.

“Sure thing,” Marcus smiled and downed the rest of Jeff’s beer in one gorgeous gulp that showed off the muscles along his throat.

Jeff coughed and looked away.

Marcus even walked him to the fucking door. “See you tomorrow?” he asked.

Jeff snorted out a laugh, “Yeah. I’m the pilot. You know, the one who makes your ship go.”

“Yeah,” Marcus’ response was low and rough. His tongue zipped out to wet his lips and he snuck a look at Jeff’s mouth—so fast that Jeff wasn’t sure it wasn’t his imagination. “You sure do make her dance.” He smiled politely. “Good night, Jeff.”

“Good night.”

Even after silently jacking off in the showers, it was a long time before Joker could sleep.

-

It wasn’t a nightly habit, but Jeff had a “nightcap” in Marcus’ cabin often enough that he started getting smirks from Kaidan. The nosy Canadian had developed the annoying habit of being at his workstation outside of Marcus’ door on those evenings.

Sometimes Marcus dragged Jeff down to the cargo bay in the middle of the night, where Garrus, Tali, and Wrex had smuggled in unique cocktails from Omega. Jeff was careful to always stop at two drinks, or their human equivalent.

Sometimes Garrus and Tali danced on top of the mako. Wrex just laughed and stood below, ready to catch whoever was tipsy enough to fall.

Marcus always made a point to sit next to, or across from, Jeff. Sometimes their knees or hips would bump and Jeff would spend the next week wondering if he should have leaned into the contact more, made it _obvious_.

And still, he didn’t make a move. Why would the first human Spectre want to hook up with a gimpy pilot?

Then they discovered Saren’s next move _before_ he made it, and decided to steal the Normandy to go and stop him.

But leave it to the XO to get cold feet the minute it was time to _act_.

“I’m telling you it’s not possible,” Pressly said and Joker glared at him.

“ _I can do it_.”

“Joker?” Marcus asked. He stood in the open cockpit doorway, his N7 helmet under his arm. Damn, the man was even hotter in full armor. And he wasn’t questioning his abilities—he was genuinely inquiring about feasibility.

“I can do the airdrop within the distance. _I_ can.” He stared into Marcus’ light grey-blue eyes as hard as he could, _willing_ him to understand it was all for him.

Marcus yanked off his armored glove and lay his hand on Jeff’s shoulder, his hot thumb as scorching as a sun along Jeff’s neck. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

“You better.”

The exchange took less than two seconds, and Marcus was gone. Kaidan was too busy fretting to make a snide comment about their _moment_. Pouty Pressly was oblivious, wrapped up in his own data pad.

Then Jeff literally dropped the away team out of the sky, precisely on top of the geth’s door, exactly like he said he could, and took a perverse joy in the annoyed grunt Pressly made about it.

_Told you I could do it._

Well, he’d done the fancy flying; Garrus had managed to land the mako.

Joker returned to orbit, ready to extract at a moment’s notice.

Whatever they found on Ilos wasn’t just a nest of geth. And when Tali came running up to the cockpit to say her scans showed that the ground team took the _mako_ through a mini mass relay, Jeff damn near pissed his pants.

Within ten seconds, he had a message off to Anderson, and had zipped the Normandy back to the Sol relay.

The Destiny Ascension, turian fleet, and entire Alliance fleet followed him into battle on the Reaper holding the Citadel hostage. But Jeff didn’t care. He would have taken the big bastard on himself, even if he’d been in a junk shuttle all by himself.

Marcus was down there.

-

Soverign was down. But so was Shepard.

Jeff watched helplessly over the Citadel security cams. The Presidium burned. The black smoke made the images grainy and dark. Was it poisonous? How hot was it in there, if space debris was burning? Those metals didn’t exactly combust at low temperatures. The Council tower’s barriers had gone up as soon as Soverign had crashed through the window, so they didn’t get spaced—but they were sealed inside.

“Wrex, Wrex!” Garrus’ voice cracked over the intercom, even though it was a clear channel. “Do you see Marcus?”

“No sign,” Wrex growled, heaving an entire column of stone off himself and standing up.

He was only recognizable because he was the biggest, reddest living thing in the grimy picture. Garrus was a streak of blue.

Bile rose in Jeff’s throat, and tears gathered in his nose.

Kaidan squeezed his shoulder and Jeff angrily brushed him off. Kaidan raised his hands in an I’ll-back-off gesture and left him the hell alone in _his_ cockpit.

The deep silence of space surrounded him in the cockpit—but the comms drowned him in the roaring fires and labored breathing of the turian and krogan who searched for Marcus.

_Please let his armor protect him._

He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.

He’d left it in the crashed mako.

“Son of a bitch,” Garrus laughed, pointing at a far-off movement.

Jeff switched to a camera on the other side of the room, squinted and leaned toward the screen, increasing the zoom two-hundred percent.

 _There._ Marcus strode up a pile of rubble, confident, his cheeky smile showing off all his teeth. It couldn’t be seen on the vid, but Jeff knew his middle two in front we different sizes, slightly crooked. Marcus held his left arm tight against his body.

Emergency crews swarmed in then with hand-held fire suppression gear. Of course with structural damage like that, they couldn’t run the overheads.

Jeff slapped off the vid feed and raced the Normandy to the nearest functional dock. Once docked, he remained in his chair, letting the automated systems and XO Pressly inform everyone they could disembark. He locked the cockpit door—rude, when his copilot Kaidan hadn’t been by to pick up his gear yet, but tough shit—and rested his face on his arms—

 _Clunk,_ the bill of his cap hit the console. He tore it off and threw it on the floor, then rested his forehead on his arms again, snot running down over everything as he cried out the last three hours—the last three _months_ —of terror. Marcus was safe now. Why the fuck was he crying _now_?

There was a double-tap on the door. An actual, physical knock. Jeff startled upright, wiping his face on his sleeve. He had to crane his neck at a weird angle to do it on his shoulder, because the sleeves on his regs only came to his elbow.

“Hey, Jeff, you ready to sign out yet?” Marcus’ voice came through the comm. Strong, solid, whole.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeff cleared his throat and hit the release button for the door. He rose and limped to a side console, going through his post-dock checklist, shutting down non-essential systems.

Keeping his face averted to hide his bloodshot eyes and nose.

“That was some fancy flying, Joker. Anderson’s already getting calls from Palaven and Sur’Kesh, asking to get you transferred to their flight schools.”

“Heh,” Jeff scoffed. “I’m _your_ pilot—Alliance first,” he amended quickly, not wanting to sound clingy. Truth was, he’d follow Marcus anywhere. To any planet. No matter whose military it was.

Plus, he didn’t need anyone to tell him he was the best damn pilot in the fleet. Any idiot could see that, and it didn’t mean he’d go wherever the politicians wanted him. They could all kiss his ass. The Normandy was _his_ girl, and Marcus his . . .

Commander.

“Glad to hear you’re mine,” Marcus said and Jeff’s fingers fumbled, incorrectly assigning Kaidan’s gear to be shipped to Tali’s home world. He cursed and hit cancel, swiftly re-typing the shipment request.

Marcus chuckled, deep and hot.

Damn it!

Jeff hit save and closed down the terminal. He couldn’t delay any more without making this whole thing even more awkward.

His cap appeared by his hand. Marcus had picked up his damn cap and offered it to him. _Commander Shepard_ , Savior of the Citadel, had bent over to pick up his cap. He swallowed hard, willing his voice to be casual.

“Thanks,” he put it on, with the bill pulled low to hide his eyes. He was nearly out the door before he realized Marcus wasn’t coming, too.

He stood behind Jeff’s chair, his left arm in a white sling. Soot clung to his braided hair, sweaty tendrils curling around his neck and ears. He’d washed his face and put on clean, crisply-pressed civvies. Damn, who ironed when the Citadel was smashed to pieces?

“You know,” Marcus said, “The mission’s over. I don’t know where we’ll be assigned next.”

“Yeah?” Jeff stepped back into the cockpit and nearly jumped out of his skin when Marcus hit the door lock.

“I may not have all my reports done yet, but I’m not really your CO anymore.”

“Yeah?” Jeff breathed out, heart pounding as Marcus took a step closer, his lopsided smile hot enough to scorch.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he dropped his voice low, looked at Jeff’s lips, and back up at his eyes. Licked his lips just as he had that first night they’d shared a beer.

“ _I’m an idiot_ ,” Jeff blurted out, stepped closer, and kissed Commander Shepard.

“Hmm,” Marcus hummed in approval, wrapping his good hand around the back of Jeff’s neck and opening his mouth. Tongue met tongue, breath mixed with breath, until Jeff couldn’t tell where he ended and Marcus began.

“That felt pretty smart to me,” Marcus said, then plundered his mouth some more.

Jeff wrapped his arms around him and Marcus grunted in pain.

“ _Shit_ ,” Jeff jumped back, anxiety climbing again. “Your arm. Sorry.”

“My wrist’s fine,” Marcus growled. “Get back over here.” He grabbed Jeff by the belt and pulled him close again, turning sideways so he was flush against his hip, is injured arm twisted away. “Don’ want to stop until you do,” he murmured, licking across Jeff’s jaw, the rasp against his beard sending waves of hot want straight to his cock.

His eyes rolled back into his head and he grabbed Marcus’ waist, grounding himself. “You’re sure?”

“Damn it, yes. You can spend all night kissing it better. Tali told me omni-gel won’t fix it—”

Jeff frowned and looked at him. “ _Omni_ —"

“And Chakwas told me I’ve had my daily quota of medi-gel already, and it will be at least eight weeks before I can fire a gun again.” Marcus suckled hard at Jeff’s throat, tightening his grip on Jeff’s shirt. “And if I want to kiss my brains out with the hottest pilot in the fleet, and I’m actually lucky enough that _he actually wants me_ , I’m going to do what I damn well please.”

_Lucky enough that he actually wants me._

Well, hot damn, _the_ Marcus Shepard thought _he_ was lucky to get to kiss Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau.

Jeff laughed and rested his head on Marcus’ shoulder. “How about we get you an ice pack and a beer in your private quarters, and I get started on showing you exactly how lucky you are.”

Marcus’ anger faded away. He tenderly pressed their lips together. “Yes. Show me.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also [read this story on Tumblr](https://dafan7711.tumblr.com/post/176608021086/shoker-marcus-and-jeff-flight-lieutenant-jeff).
> 
> There's a sequel! Read Marcus and Jeff's ME2 story, [We'll Fly Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16104704/chapters/37616999).
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm also on Tumblr as [dafan7711](https://dafan7711.tumblr.com/), where I blog about gaming, writing, and life.


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